Traces of Summer

this passage was inspired by my very best friend, who passed way tragically last winter

Before the official days of summer began I went back to the place where you carved our names into a dead log with your old pocket knife The log that lay just beside the water's edge overlooking a grassy hill I ran my fingers over the rigid bark and the jagged letters of your name I remember the days felt so long then, and we were unstoppable This would be the first of many summers apart And I find myself questioning whether things will ever be the same, again I stand here for several minutes, eyes closed, as if trying to hear your voice through the carving But all I can hear is the passing of the gurgling river as it continues on its course down the mountain